


Calypso High

by Jacks8n



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gon is autistic, M/M, Romance, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacks8n/pseuds/Jacks8n
Summary: Killua and Gon meet at the dawn of their senior year. Under the cloud of Illumi's disapproval and the graduation set to tear them apart, they slip into love and friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a fly at the window. It bashes into the screen, desperate to escape into the yellowing leaves and fresh-cut grass beyond the principal’s office. The buzzing, loud as the wall clock and the whirring hum of Tina’s computer, unfortunately doesn’t cover Illumi’s furious, spat whispers.

“You realize that when you behave like this it reflects back on me,” he says, arms crossed, twisted in his seat to glare at Killua.

“Of course, brother.” He knows it’s a bad idea, but he flashes a lopsided grin anyway.

Illumi smacks his cheek so hard he all buts falls from his chair. He blinks back hasty tears, but he doesn’t give Illumi the satisfaction of watching him rub away the sting.

The door swings open as Killua adjusts his mandatory tie.

Illumi, nakedly rageful a moment prior, smooths flat. “Mrs. Ghershaw, how lovely to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Tina, round and always in bright knit cardigans, catches her breath as she sits down. “Oh it’s not that bad,” she says, groping for reading glasses. Killua grabs a pair from the edge of her desk and she accepts them gratefully. “He just might have to take a distance course or two to graduate on time.”

“But he _can_ graduate on time?” says Illumi, leaning forward on his elbows. Killua rolls his eyes. Tina doesn’t catch it, but Illumi has a sixth sense by now and fires a warning stare.

“Let me just pull up his transcript,” she says, jostling the black screen to life. She bites her lip as she looks through his mottled record of scraped passes, incompletes, and occasional gems to keep on the honor roll.

Illumi rubs his thumbs together, knuckles white. Killua squints, trying to stretch feeling back into his cheek.

Fucking asshole.

She throws open her hands, wobbling her head back and forth in a way that makes her second chin jiggle. “It won’t be easy, but it’s absolutely possible.”

“How,” says Illumi, pulling a small notepad from his pocket. The fly shoots from the window and buzzes around his ears, only to be swatted away and slip out the cracked door. Killua doesn’t appreciate being jealous of an insect.

They discuss the online schools available, and he zones out, offering the occasional affirmative when Tina looks his way. Illumi scribbles down names and registration information in looping cursive.

He wonders if the blood is going to wash out of his good suit jacket. Probably not, but the sleeves were getting short anyway. Maybe Alluka can help him— 

“Killua.” Tina’s looking at him sympathetically over the rim of her lenses. He tries to hide his startle. “How does that sound?”

He opens his mouth, but he can’t recall what they’d been talking about. Illumi straightens with dangerous elegance, contempt in his glare.

“Sure,” says Killua reflexively. “Sounds good.”

Tina smiles and drops her glasses on the table. “Excellent. You’ll love Gon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello wip 3


	2. Chapter 2

Quite frankly, Alluka has bad taste in music. Killua, feet on the bench, pulls out his earbuds and leans his head back. Across the hallway, posters for soccer sign ups, weekly swing dances, and private piano lessons flutter in the AC draft.

**sounds awesome** , he texts. **love swedish folk-pop like this.**

It turns out he’s agreed to math tutoring, but it’s closer to detention. Killua didn’t fail those courses because he couldn’t do the work, he failed because he didn’t _attend._ The group help sessions are nothing but a punishment for making Illumi sit through a mortifying meeting with the principal.

Fortunately, though, he’s devised a fool proof strategy for not going, not going. Which is why he’s sitting in the hallway, alone, watching condensation build on a bottle forgotten by the nearest row of lockers. He’ll wait until it’s been long enough he can skip out to his definitely bugged car without Milluki getting a notification.

What can he say. He’s always been a rebel. Besides, he can rattle off the assignments during lunch.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Killua looks up.

His disrupter has messy hair, a hastily tied tie, and a stack of textbooks balanced in his arms. Their eyes meet, and Killua’s heart skitters like a fawn on newfound legs.

“I’m Gon,” says the boy, smiling wide.

“Of course you are,” says Killua.

Gon’s eyebrow pull together with momentary confusion that quickly springs back into unabashed joy. He glances down at the books. “Sorry, can’t really shake your hand. Can you—”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” says Killua, jumping to open the door.

“Thanks,” says Gon. Killua swings on his backpack and follows.

The library was already old when his mother was a student. Outdated country flags hang from the ceiling, boxy murals of fishermen decorate the walls, and the further back you venture into the maze of wooden shelves, the older and dustier the books get, until they’re leather bound and titled with gold.

Round tables are clustered beside the front desk, where the librarian can keep a watchful eye during class hours. Gon greets the handful of waiting students, ranging from freshmen to seniors, and they all reply enthusiastically. All but one, sitting alone in the far corner.

Killua shoves his hands into his pockets. “Illumi sent you, didn’t he.”

Kalluto bites his cheek and looks away.

Gon sets the textbooks down. “Everybody this is…” He prompts with a gesture.

“Killua.”

“Killua.”

There’s a chorus of “hey Killua”s. Kalluto gives him the middle figure and he responds likewise.

Gon holds out his hand and Killua shakes it, employing his father’s lesson on making a good impression. It’s only when Gon pulls his hand away and tugs at his collar that he considers unblinking, direct eye contact may be a bit much in casual situations.

Someone pulls out a quiz for Gon to look over, and the group disperses across the tables. Killua weaves his way over to Kalluto and drops his backpack in a chair.

“You weren’t going to come, were you,” says Kalluto.

“You gonna snitch?” asks Killua.

Kalluto tosses his book on the table and taps the cover with his painted nails. He steeples his fingers, and Killua stands like a teapot. “Help me convince mother I need a car.”

“You don’t need a car.”

“That’s why I need your help, idiot.” Killua tries to squint menacingly, but Kalluto just smiles and takes a sip from his plastic water bottle. “Besides, it’s your fault I have to be here. You should be nice to me.”

“Mhm,” says Killua, unconvinced. He sits and pulls out his laptop. “Do you have anything to do?”

“I found a book,” says Kalluto, gesturing at it loosely. “And Alluka texted me a playlist. I’m assuming you’ve already listened to it?”

“Yeah.”

“Any good?”

Killua licks the front of his teeth. “Excellent.”

“As always,” says Kalluto, wincing as he puts in an earbud.

The first unit is all review, so Killua skips the lessons and jumps into the assignment, scrawling answers in his notebook to copy over later. It’s monotonous and repetitive, but that’s a small blessing. Killua can’t keep his attention tied down.

Gon sits beside a freshman, slumped casually with his elbows on the table. She works through the problems, explaining the steps as she goes, and he offers gentle prompts whenever she fists her hair.

Killua’s had crushes before. He’s had nasty, heart-reefing crushes that left him simultaneously nauseous and giddy. But he’s never been able to put his finger on a moment before. Gon is cute, and then, in the time it would take to flip a coin, he’s the most beautiful person Killua’s ever seen.

It’s another half hour before he leans over Killua’s work, hands on the table and brow furrowed. “Doesn’t look like you’re having trouble to me.”

“I already took this course,” says Killua, adamantly keeping his eyes on the current question. Gon smells an exciting kind of good that makes his stomach flutter.

“Oh,” says Gon, flopping into the chair beside him. Kalluto suppresses a laugh, but Gon either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Then what are you here for?”

“I failed it last time,” says Killua.

“What did you have trouble with?” asks Gon, leaning forward on his knees.

Killua stops writing. He twists his mouth, considering lying, but decides against it. “Showing up for the final.”

“Ouch,” says Gon.

“Yup,” says Killua, popping his lips. He returns to the assignment.

“So why are you here?” asks Gon, tilting his head.

“Family pressure,” says Killua. He wrinkles his nose. “Also, I don’t think I’d actually sit down and do this at home, and I need to graduate.”

“So I’m your warden,” says Gon, with a sly, toothy grin.

“So far you’re just a distraction,” says Killua.

“You have no idea how distracting I can be,” says Gon.

That gets him to look up, cheeks burning. Gon smiles, pleased with himself.

“Get a fucking room,” says Kalluto, turning to the next page.

Gon laughs. “Are you my deputy?” he asks. Like a fool. Like an idiot.

Kalluto stills. He closes his novel and reaches into his bag.

Killua laughs nervously and paws at his arm. Fucker. Fucker.

Kalluto slips on his sunglasses just to dramatically lower them and stare at Gon over the frame.

For a moment, the three of them are silent. Kalluto stares hard. Gon shifts with unease. Killua wonders what he’s going to rename himself to when he exiles himself overseas from embarrassment.

“I’m not your anything,” says Kalluto. “But Killua’s single.”

He’s going to die.

“Oh,” says Gon.

“That we know,” says Killua. Fuck. Fuck what does that even mean.

Gon tilts his head and furrows his brow. “You don’t know if you’re single or not?”

Kalluto bursts out laughing, face red. Killua white knuckles the melamine tabletop. Gon’s eyes dart between them, confused but faintly smiling.

“I don’t know why I said—I’m—I mean—no—yes—yes, I’m single, I’m not—I am single.”

“Me too,” says Gon, a twinkle in his eyes.

Killua swallows hard. “Go away.”

Gon laughs. Kalluto falls out of his chair. The freshman looks over at them, eyes wide as saucers, and Killua puts his head in his hands.

“See you next week,” says Gon.

“Yeah,” says Killua, rushing to pack up his things. “See you.”

Worst part is, he’s pretty sure he means it.


	3. Chapter 3

Killua has a busy life, and in that busy life, school is an afterthought. His studies are no more than a necessary hoop to get into whatever private college his father mandates he attend, where he will get a degree in something pointless and focus on carving a space for himself in the tangled world his family inhabits. Because that’s what everything comes back to, in the end. Work, and his role in it. That he’s done well in school hasn’t been much more than a reason for Kikyo to complement Illumi’s efforts over the dinner table.

So it’s a pleasant surprise to learn he enjoys studying when it isn’t being done on an unmade bed, loose sheets scattered, hand shaking out a cheat sheet while the sun rises for the second time since he last slept. It’s freeing, in a way, to pursue mastery in something his family doesn’t give a shit about.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Illumi allows him a recess from training. Even a broken leg wasn’t enough to merit that.

They don’t talk much during the sessions, but he and Gon are always the last to leave.

“A try is kind of like you skid across the grass,” says Gon, backpack slung over one shoulder. He drags the chair and it bounces on the carpet.

“So like baseball?” asks Killua, tossing a textbook Kalluto’s way. Gon makes a choked sound of protest, but it’s caught effortlessly and set down in place. Killua will throw harder next time.

“Sort of.”

Kalluto heads to air out the car, and they’re alone. Gon chatters on about his team’s latest match as they finish resetting chairs, and Killua helps him return the textbooks to the right classrooms. Gon likes talking, and he likes being talked to. They make a good pair.

Tina is the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, and that’s only because they got along the few times kids gave Kalluto shit and he landed in her office. Gon sails beyond the high water mark just by waving whenever he spots Killua across a crowd.

It isn’t long before they’re spending lunch hour together. Gon leads him across the field, cutting through a soccer match played with shirts for goal posts.

The oak rests in the corner of the field, right by the fenceline. Gon hops up, then reaches down to offer unneeded help. Killua accepts the hand, and he’s lifted like his guts are cotton stuffing.

The canopy bobs in the gentle wind. Ants crawl across the bark. “Luxurious.”

“Shut up,” laughs Gon, slapping his shoulder. “This place is great.”

It kind of is. They’re hidden from the classroom windows and as far from the road as they can get.

“Yeah, it’s luxurious,” says Killua. He pulls out his lunch and unceremoniously drops his backpack. Something clatters. Gon does the same.

For a few minutes, they sit in quiet company. Gon steals strawberries and offers a bite of sandwich in return, like it isn’t even a question they would share. Killua sends him down to grab the candy in his bag, and they split that too, although Gon insists he take the bigger half.

He rests his head on Killua’s shoulder while licking his fingers. “Do you want to come over to my place on Friday?”

Killua clicks his heels, considering what strings he would have to pull. “You think I need more tutoring?”

Gon pokes his gut and Killua doubles over reflexively, laughing. “Yeah, on not being a dumbass.”

He has something clever to say to that, but he forgets it when Gon grabs his cheeks and kisses him. His eyes are squeezed shut and his palms are hot and calloused. Killua is caught for a moment, the cusp of a word still on his tongue, before his shoulders drop and his eyes slip closed.

There are no anxious butterflies. His mind washes blissfully quiet, and for the first time in a long while, he’s content and unhurried. Kissing Gon is natural as breathing, and Killua wonders if it’s always supposed to feel like this. He certainly likes it better.

He winds a hand in Gon’s hair, coarse and thin, less to hold him in place and more to assure he wants this too. His world narrows to puffs of breath against his cheek and the press of their thighs. It’s never felt bigger.

When they part, there’s a self-satisfied smile on Gon’s reddened lips.

“You’re beautiful,” says Killua, because he can’t allow Gon to be the only honest one between them.

Gon hides his face in Killua’s shoulder and nestles into a hug. “I like your eyes.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Illumi doesn’t question it when he says his math tutor offered extra help. If anything, he’s relieved the problem, (Killua), is dealing with itself.

He drops his keys into Kalluto’s eager palm, glaring an unvoiced threat, and joins Gon in his beater. It’s two tries before the engine starts. Gon’s enthusiasm suggests this is more of an “only two” situation.

They drive through town, beyond the industrial parks, and onto a two-lane highway that slinks through the mountains. The pop station blasts, and Killua sings along. Gon taps the wheel happily and laughs whenever his voice cracks trying to reach the high notes. A flock of sheep shuffle by in the ditch.

Whale is as close to nowhere as you can get without falling off the earth. The village, if you could call it that, is nestled in a tight valley and only built up around the artery road. White patches on the general store’s stucco mark old graffiti, and a mobile home with a porch as large as the house itself has a sign outside offering “spiritual services and gold panning”.

Gon turns off onto a washboard gravel path, and it’s another ten minutes of wrestling uphill before they arrive at a house with a steep roof and an extensive garden, all hidden under leaning lodgepole pines.

A woman shouts a greeting at them out a window. Gon hops out to greet her, and Killua follows like a shadow.

“This is Killua,” he says, gesturing with open arms like he’s introducing a musical act. Killua waves weakly.

“Killua, it’s so nice to meet you,” says the woman who must be Mito. “I thought you would be shorter.”

“He is shorter,” says Gon, turning Killua so they stand back to back. Mito laughs, so the sour comment bidding for a private moment must be obvious on his features.

“I think it’s just because you’re wearing boots,” she says.

Gon huffs. The two Freecs devolve into a competitive bicker about whether Killua’s sleeping habits would make a difference as he retrieves his bag from the car.

He likes this place.

Inside is just as rustic as the exterior. The hardwoods are chipped, and the lamps date the house by at least six decades. There’s a shelf of snow globes, no less than four gaudy cuckoo clocks, and walls of framed pictures. Most of them appear shot on film.

Gon lets him and Mito say a quick hello, and then he’s shoved up the stairs.

“Sorry Aunt Mito, school stuff.”

“Right,” she says. Killua blushes furiously at her tone.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“This movie is bad,” says Killua. He lies stomach down on Gon’s bed, head rested in the crook of his elbow. Gon sits on the floor, close enough Killua can nuzzle into his temple whenever he gets bored. Which is often.

The sun has set, and coyotes sing through the open window.

“This movie is great,” says Gon. “You just don’t have any taste.”

A man is impaled, and Killua grimaces. It isn’t realistic, but it is gruesome, in a comic-y kind of way that only makes him feel more sick. “It’s gross.”

Gon swivels. “Are you scared?” he asks, stare intensely focused on Killua.

He glances at the grainy screen. The man slides down the spear through his chest. “No.”

“Aw,” says Gon, leaning back against the bed. He pouts, brow furrowed.

Killua blinks. “Are you _trying_ to scare me?”

Gon freezes. He hums like a stalled car while waving his hands in search of a satisfying lie. “Maybe,” he admits, like it’s a question.

Killua sighs and buries his face in his arms. “Put on something good and we can cuddle.”

Gon pouts as he browses through the drawer in his nightstand. “It’s not the same.”

“You’d get scared before me anyway.”

The next movie starts, and Gon tackles on top of him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Killua sits at the foot of his four-poster bed and stares into the eyes mirrored back at him.


End file.
